


Carousel

by redisthenewblackington



Category: Blacklist, The Blacklist (TV) RPF, The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redisthenewblackington/pseuds/redisthenewblackington
Summary: A much-needed revision of the carousel scene at the end of s06e20.





	Carousel

Red keeps his eyes rivited on the carousel, almost in awe of the not-so-little girl in the iridescent puffer jacket. Her mother is yapping incessantly in his ear, close enough that he can feel her breath on his cheek, but he lies inwardly, tells himself it's just a warm, faint breeze. He listens half-heartedly, about as well as she has ever listened to him. It feels appropriate. He could never give her any less. He's only ever given her more.

 

She's spewing trite niceties that make his gut roil. After everything she's done, Elizabeth is still so self-assured, so confident that this is just _fine_. She believes she's bestowing upon him a gift, something she's certain he'll treasure forever. She thinks she knows everything.

 

She's never been more wrong.

 

It's as if there is a lead rope attached to Agnes' sleek carousel horse and the other end is anchored to his chest. Every time she goes around, it tightens, more and more and more until he cannot think, cannot breathe. Suddenly, the rope snaps and Elizabeth's voice comes back into focus. A delicate, oblivious flick of her wrist twists the knife between his ribs.

 

"You won't stay angry with me. You think you will, but you won't. Parents don't stay angry with their children or their grandchildren, and that's who you are to us. It doesn't matter who you were. This is who you are, and who you'll always be."

 

Either the carousel or time itself has slowed to a crawl. He works his jaw, chews the inside of his cheek, swallows against the rising threat of stomach acid in his throat. Her words are sickening.

 

It takes entirely too long for her to notice both his continued silence and the coiled tension in his frame. She squares her shoulders toward him in a bid to get his attention, to make him look at her, but he won't. "What?" She finally asks, a little more softly, a little less certain.

 

"Elizabeth, you killed your father. It was an accident, but you killed him. He's dead."

 

Never one to back down from a confrontation, she snaps back, " _You_ killed my father."

 

He swings his gaze to settle on her, seething. His words are cutting and deliberate. "Yes. You've had two and we each killed one. How many fathers do you need?"

 

She tries not to study her reflection in his sunglasses, where she looks so small and guilty, shrinking further under his scrutiny. "You took my father's identity."

 

He crosses one leg over the other and rests his arm across the back of the bench, laughing a little too loudly, too hollow. He finds a small, thrumming satisfaction in the way she flinches, visibly startled. "Did I ever walk you to the bus stop?" He doesn't pause to let her respond, just keeps going. "Did I read you bedtime stories? Did I make you finish your homework before letting you watch television? Did I make sure you ate your vegetables? Did I ever ground you for staying out past your curfew?"

 

"No..." And now it's her turn to look away, blinking back tears. Her gaze settles on the carousel and she takes a deep breath, tries to draw strength from the distant image of her daughter.

 

"I'm not your father, and I doubt I'll live long enough to become a grandfather. Do me a favor, Elizabeth. If you're so afraid that I might have believed what you said before I was strapped into a chair to be put to death, then just forget you ever said it, and I'll do the same. Let's not pretend that I've ever treated you like a daughter. It's demeaning and disgusting."

 

At that, he rises to his feet and walks away on unsteady legs, sparing one last glance at the green-eyed, not-so-little girl on the carousel. He's already said too much.

 

Elizabeth draws in a shuddering breath and pulls her knees up to her chest, watching him go, wondering what he meant, exactly, and how she got it all so wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I neither own these characters nor profit from this story.


End file.
